


Prescience, and the Value Thereof

by fencer_x



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miwa Ichigen has never been of the mind that, 'ignorance is bliss'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prescience, and the Value Thereof

There comes a point, rather early on, when everything changes.

Wait--no. He isn't sure it's quite right to use that phrasing-- _everything changes_ \--because ostensibly, everything is quite the same, and there's no _before_ or _after_ for Miwa to compare, to align side by side and _see_ that yes, there was something different now. Nevertheless, something has decidedly shifted, somewhere, somehow, in the ether or space-time or maybe just inside his own addled head: there is a _goal_ now.

It isn't the first time this has happened--and given that the last time he'd had a vision of this magnitude he'd wound up taking in a scraggly, scruffy little beanpole of a boy who thought Miwa hung the moon, one might think he would take these visions more seriously. But this time…this time it's different. 

This time, it's not for Miwa--it's not for the Kings, it's not for the country, it's not for anything immediate or grand or the sort of thing that might be _worthy_ of a vision.

It's just for Kuroh. Just him.

And really, now that he thinks about it, who is more deserving of such a vision? Who more than Kuroh merits the privilege of foresight, of preparedness, of being able to _know_ something is coming and meeting it head-on, with full force of will, for better or worse? Many might use this gift for ill, many more still for perceived good that would surely lead to destruction or corruption--but Kuroh? Kuroh is a simple thing, of simple desires and simple motivations--and he will not be tempted by the promise of a future at hand, nor will he be incited to rebellion against a fate he feels out of his control.

But Kuroh is young yet, far too young to be saddled with destiny and futures beyond his imagination, and Miwa is his master, his guide, his teacher--and so he instead tucks away the vision in his mind, far from the probing gaze of his pupil, and starts to _train_ him.

For how else, he reasons simply, can Kuroh ever be expected to defend his future King and companion?

Miwa knows that within that tiny body, beneath that lean chest beats fiercely the heart of a warrior who longs to be needed, depended upon, one who derives a sense of purpose from being given one by others. And while Kuroh would likely just as soon hone himself into a weapon to be used to fend off all attack from his present master, Miwa has other plans for him now.

When Kuroh had initially approached him, begging to be taught the art of swordsmanship, Miwa had balked, worried that the boy was too young, too _new_ , would break under the tutelage required to forge master swordsmen--but now he can feel a clock ticking down somewhere, from up on high, and he feels the pressure dangling like a Damocles, closing in around the two of them: _hurry, hurry fast_.

Details like time, place--these are lost in visions, appearing merely as flashes of consciousness, like an onlooker catching a glimpse out of the corner of their eye before moving on: here, Kuroh slicing green onions with swift, short strokes and tending a pan with a look of intense concentration while his King lies abed with a shifter Strain pawing at his nose; here, Kuroh dressed in dowdy period garb and sharply reprimanding his King with words Miwa cannot make out but in tones altogether irritated; here, Kuroh taking a sound beating from the Blue King, face and clothes a muddied mess as a storm pelts him mercilessly, all the while refusing to relinquish his position, resolute in unfounded faith he cannot explain.

No; knowing now that Kuroh will need every skill in his arsenal--his sword, his fists, his Strain abilities--Miwa is all the more resolved in crafting for this King of Kuroh's a knight who'll serve him well, for Kuroh would want no less of himself and would accept no shortcomings. Kuroh must be ready to defend not just himself, but his King, this one whom he'll serve and protect not out of duty or some muddied sense of obligation, but _love_ \--and mere strength of will likely won't be sufficient.

He can see it all unfolding before him, a long strip of time flashing by like an old film, hazy and muddled in some parts and crisp and clear at others. He sees seething rage and bubbling irritation give way to grudging respect and gaping fascination, the ever-shifting plane of Kuroh's emotions a swirling tempest in the face of one he's not sure how to approach. He sees careful caution blur into reluctant trust shift into some amalgamation of awe and respect with a twinge of heartbreak and faint, fleeting hope on the horizon. He sees the boyish infatuation instilled in Kuroh from a young age latch on to a new goal, a new master to care for, nurtured by time and trial and tribulation into something deeper, darker and more passionate, a love as different from that Kuroh has ever held for Miwa as it is possible to be--but love all the same. 

He senses the dawning realization and relief as Kuroh finally accepts that this person--this man--is worthy of serving, feels the thrum of Kuroh's drive and desire pumping through veins as he takes the place he never knew he was always meant to have--and not for the first time, Miwa wonders if he oughtn't seek an audience with the Silver King here, now, in the past, before it all unfurls into _the present_ , but he quickly abandons that track; the First King hasn't cared for the affairs of the earthbound for decades now, and the man in the blimp is not the man Kuroh will serve. They're neither one of them ready to meet the other, not just yet.

And then he hears it--a soft, strained plea, a whispered entreaty, Kuroh begging ( _begging_ ) to be forgiven for pledging himself to another King, and Miwa longs to reach across the boundaries of time and space and gather this boy into his arms and hold him close and tell him in no uncertain terms that _there's nothing to apologize for_ \--of course, of _course_ it's fine, because didn't they tell each other, didn't they _promise_ that they would forgive each other their occasional whims and desires? What is this, if not some grand, predestined _indulgence_ that Kuroh has earned by his own blood and sweat and toil? If Miwa thought it necessary, he would give his blessing a thousand times over--but the fact of the matter is, it's _not_. This has always been Kuroh's place, and Miwa simply set him on the path and gave him a little push in the right direction.

But of a sudden, he's back, the vision is gone, fading away like a dream upon waking but vivid still in his mind's eye with _understanding_. He cannot forget, even if he wants to--he can choose to act or choose ignore, but he cannot choose to _forget_ , and that is perhaps the greatest burden of his Gift.

Across from where he sits, Kuroh is just as Miwa left him before settling down to meditate: legs tucked under himself in seiza and face scrunched up in concentration as he attempts to reach for a ball several paces out of his grasp--an exercise meant to help foster his Strain abilities, but one at which the poor thing is failing miserably.

With a soft chuckle, Miwa rises and brushes out the wrinkles in his robe. "That's enough for this evening, Kuro; we'll start again in the morning." Kuroh is obviously put out by the notion, wary he's disappointed Miwa, but he complies nonetheless with a dejected, "Understood, Ichigen-sama."

Miwa ruffles his hair once for good measure, receiving a flush of pleasure in return, and reminds, "A tiny acorn--with time and toil aplenty--gives way to an oak," which, simple though the adage may be, seems to satisfy Kuroh, who ducks a nod before darting away to ready himself for bed. 

Miwa pauses only a moment before drawing closed the shutters, letting the warm, humid wind of the evening brush his skin and listening to the strident calls of cicadas all around, and casts a glance skyward to the flickering lights of the _Himmelreich_ floating high in the distance as it paints a lazy track across the capital leagues away. If Adolf is privy to Miwa's visions--what does Miwa know of the true extent of the Silver King's powers?--the unchanging flight pattern of his great airship gives nothing away. 

And perhaps it's for the best--futures aren't meant to be bandied about as dinner conversation, and no one wants to listen to the addled babblings of the Colorless King besides. Let Adolf stew for another decade in solitude; in the meantime, Miwa resolves, he'll need to look into getting Kuroh a proper judo instructor.


End file.
